Log:LC G with CW at CDF
LC G with CW at CDF
OOC Date: April 27, 2017
Location: Civil Defense Force
Participants: Ambrosia Greystorm, Corr Waldin
It's actually not raining outside, which is a nice change on Nar Shaddaa. Inside the office, a few workers are huddled over their desks, furiously typing into terminals, shuffling papers, running fingers over screens, and the like, doing the research and filing involved with solving and preventing and punishing crime. An office door that simply reads 'Waldin' in small, unassuming letters closes and the man steps out into the room, dressed in an understated blue and yellow uniform that's somewhat less vibrant than the paint scheme they're using for the actual armored suits. Gotta be seen in those situations, after all. A young intern comes scurrying over with a datapad, offering it out to him.
"Good afternoon, sir. I collated those reports you asked for and filed all the recent robberies believed to have been committed by more than one perp into one sheet, it's pulled up there," she explains, walking along next to him as he starts to move toward the door. "The next tab is armed robberies with the same criteria, then narrowed to those with fatalities and those without."
Corr nods in response, staring down at the data, starting to flip through the virtual sheets and then back to the first. "Thanks. This is good work."
"Yes sir, thank you sir," the intern replies, bustling back to her desk and peeking over the terminal to cast a dreamy smile toward his back while he's looking out the window.
Corr, meanwhile, is totally unaware, glancing between the blinds and the datapad, hmming thoughtfully to himself as he starts to dig deeper into the information.
One of those distracted glances to the blinds will find a pair of fiercely green eyes, wreathed in shadow, staring boldly back. A blink and it's gone. So....was it ever there to begin with?
Corr didn't blink. He just. Okay, actually, after he saw them, he blinked. It's a little strange. Heading over to the door, he peeks out the blinds for a moment and pulls it open to see who's out here trying to play Peeping Pati Peel-out.
Yup, they're there, those eyes, along with the rest of peeping Pati, already as far IN to the threshold as could be before the door swung open. Personal space? Overrated. Adjusting her stance out of a sloppy parade rest to go ahead and put one street-booted foot forward onto the nice, decent floor beyond Corr's looming bulk, Ambrosia lifts her chin to look him more squarely in the eye. "So word on the street /is/ true..." She tilts her head to one side to peer inside the industrious little office. It looks like, smells like, a room full of IT 'nerds' and dreaded HR staff. "What do they call you? Mister Waldin?"
The door opens, and Corr sees not Pati (thank god) but Ambrosia, and starts to come to attention before he remembers they're not that and this isn't there. From somewhere behind him, an intern is noticing the tension he's showing off and worrying at her lip, but she's not important. "Waldin's fine. Most go with 'Sir' or 'director,' though," he answers dryly, trying to decide how much he wants to push back against the guilt he's already feeling on seeing the major. "How can I help you, ma'am?"
"Just fancied a look around, is all," Greystorm shrugs a shoulder and reaches up to pull back her hood. There's some faint bruising present on one cheek/eye and a little scrape on her chin, but other than that she doesn't appear worse for wear since last they spoke. "Stopped off on this bloody moon few days ago for a little R&R before I see what it is the General has for me next. Confess I'm not in the mood. Iridonia's hot, this time of year. And messy." Gutting half a dozen Nightbrothers to bail your kid out of trouble he didn't see coming IS messy. Especially when they don't all go quietly into that dark, empty night.
"I can give you the two-credit tour if you'd like," Corr offers, with a small shrug of his shoulder. "We're still small, takes all of five minutes to walk through the place." He pulls the door open for the woman a little further, stepping back so she can come in. "You blowin' stuff up there too?" the ex-Resistance soldier wonders, an amused grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"No," The new LC steps up and in the rest of the way, immediately scanning the faces of all bodies inside. Any who make the mistake of looking back get an extra second or two of hardened eye contact. "Just don't take kindly to desecration of old grannie's tomb." Great x35 grandmother, but that's too much math for Amber to put into words. "Guess that makes me sentimental." From the crook of her mouth, she surely /must/ be joking. Because seriously. Grumpy Greystorm. She ambles on around in a slow circle of the interior which, like he said, doesn't take long. Coming to stand under the artfully done 'CDF' sign, she plants hands on her hips and just grins at it.
Grumpy Greystorm was Great x34 Grannie. "Civil Defense Force," Corr spells out redundantly, just chilling next to her while she grins at it. "Thought I'd come at the same problem as before but a little different angle, y'know? Just didn't sit right with me, way things were goin' lately." It's not misgivings no one else has ever had in the Resistance, of course. "They got a lotta other things here but someone tryin' t'do the right thing ain't much popular, so. This is my take." Yep. He nods, satisfied with that explanation.
"Less blood, you mean." Dropping her hands harmlessly to her sides (hahah), Amber backs a few steps away from the do-good logo. "Also, no drugged-up CO to lead the charge. I get it." She rubs a mostly clean hand over her scabby chin which evidently is in the 'hell, this itches' phase of healing. "I tend to resent loss of assets, Waldin. Loss of intel, loss of manpower, but....I get it. Dirty work isn't for everyone. It shouldn't be. S'only so many monsters this galaxy can handle, on either side." This aging queen of the damned, for one, looks tired. Her brow bows under the tension of another oncoming headache and while searching the room for something, anything else to comment on, she finds the pretty, young intern hovering over there, quietly keeping out of the way....
"I done plenty of dirty work," Corr replies, glancing over at the LC. "Pretty well laid down and rolled in it. Figured it was past time to get clean. Only so many ghosts a man can keep in his head before they drive him mad." Arms cross habitually over his chest, and his attention is tugged over by hers, and now they're both looking at poor Unnamed Intern, who is making a show of focusing intently on her terminal screen. "...get you a cup of caf?" Corr offers. They /do/ have that amenity.
Hmf. With a little nod, 'the major' consents. Rather than following him in pursuit of it though, she gravitates back toward the door and keeps her eye on those blinds.
Corr rejoins her there, with a small disposable (biodegradable) cup of caf, a little steam curling off it. "Good to see you. You ever need my help, well. You know where t'find me."
"Indeed I do." Lifting the cup with a mirthless sort of 'cheer' in his direction, Ambrosia saunters back out into the street. "Keep it up, soldier. You just might manage to appease those ghosts." On this, the 57 yr old does NOT speak from experience.
